Disease
by Dacica Dracones
Summary: The affection compartment is part of the superior brain activity and comprises all emotions and feelings, positive and negative. If said compartment is to cease its activity, will the human being still be able to survive? [Leslie/Ruvik centric]
1. You can let him go now

PATIENT FILE REPORT

NAME: LESLIE WITHERS

AGE: 25

The doctor frowned, adjusting the glasses on top of his aquiline nose with his middle finger. The boy that was currently being presented to him, held in place by a guard that gripped at his frail arms tighter than necessary, did not look that age at all. The man was sure he could count his ribs under that blindingly white robe the mental ward had put him into. His face was hidden from the doctor's eyes, the boy refusing to look up from the floor beneath his bare feet; he held his hands close to his chest, wringing them constantly.

"You can let him go now."The doctor put the file down on his desk; he would finish reading it later. The guard hesitated, letting his hands hover on the boy's body for a few moments, as if expecting him to suddenly turn around and make a run for it. It didn't happen, and the doctor motioned for him to leave the room.

The boy's shoulders shook; his skin was as pale as the robe he was wearing, the only spots of color that broke the white expanse were purple, angry and fresh, and yellow, almost healed, bruises, and the red of his lips that he kept biting, probably unconsciously. The man frowned once more at the signs of aggression that marred the boy's skin. It was very unlikely that they were self-inflicted; whoever had him first did not handle him with much care.

"Hello, Leslie!" He sweetened his tone considerably, though he expected no answer from the boy. He's seen all kinds of reactions to his attempts to be friendly, and none of them were at least a little bit positive; some of them had gotten rather unpleasant. He knew what he must have looked like, in the eyes of all those poor souls to ever have crossed his threshold; the sight from the other side of his desk was frightening.

As he expected, he was met with silence. The boy tried hard to ignore him, but it was obvious he was unsuccessful; his shoulders were still tense and trembled slightly. Despite the fact that he kept his eyes glued to the ground, not seeing the doctor, he could feel his presence, looming over him, like a bad omen. Bad. Bad.

"Bad. Bad." He muttered under his breath and covered his ears with his hands, pressing as hard as he could. The doctor watched him intently as he raised his head, but kept his eyes screwed shut. So he hears voices; he's seen other patients try to muffle the sounds of voices inside their brains by clamping their hands over their ears. A futile attempt that only managed to swell their desperation as they realised the demons were inside them, and not out.

His hands fell from either side of his head, his eyelids trembled but he did not dare open them. Most patients didn't sleep at night, didn't even close their eyes, in fear of what they saw when the world around them went black; right now this boy must have been more afraid of him than of what was inside. It made the doctor even more eager to cut open his mind, see what made him lose grip on it. Instead, he cooed at him like he's a kicked puppy.

"Leslie." He didn't answer, not verbally, but he did flinch. At least now the man knew he was listening. He sure hated repeating himself. "My name is Valerio Jimenez." He announced, carefully avoiding his beloved 'doctor' title; it pained his ego to do so, but the feeling of safety he had to create for his patients was vital. This one was already damaged, spooked, and the doctor suddenly felt anger towards whoever treated Leslie before him. No one like fixing other people's messes, and no one like playing with broken toys.

"I will take care of you, for now." Still no reaction. He's had others that had unexpectedly started grabbing things from his desk and hurling them in his direction. He had then worn the gash from the scissor aimed for his head like a battle wound from a war he had won, gloriously.

This complete lack of a response was quite unnerving. "Could you please open your eyes and look at me?" Much to his surprise, watery blue stared back at him and for a moment he felt gutted. The sorrow swimming in them struck him the most, as if the boy had already accepted his fate. And damn, has she been cruel to him.

He grabbed the file on his desk hastily, pretending to be greatly interested in it. Some letters danced in front of his eyes but he could not place some meaning to them. When he looked at the boy again, he was grateful to see he had lowered his head once more. He sighed softly, scratching his forehead absent-mindedly. He's seen many pairs of eyes; he's seen furious glares, and blank stares. And he's seen sadness, but nothing like this.

"Very well, then." He concluded, closing the file once again. "Just follow me, I'll show you to your room." The boy followed, without hesitance this time, waddling like a duck behind him and muttering words to himself.

This one was something special, the doctor could feel that, and nothing made him happier than an unique piece added to his collection.


	2. It's a gold mine, I tell you

"This is a gold mine, I tell you."

"It's sick!"

The hispanic doctor scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his colleague a scolding look. Quite a brilliant mind; he had to admit that, even though doing so didn't give him much pleasure; and always seeming to observe what others overlooked. Also not afraid, nor unwilling, to get his hands dirty, which often earned him some crooked stares. Ruben Victoriano had come to the facility only two years ago, and managed to make quite a name for himself quicker than anybody else did, much to everybody's chagrin; when Marcelo Jimenez first saw him, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. Young, features delicate and voice soft, Marcelo could not picture a man like Ruben survive into an environment of illness and despair. Even he, a hardened surgeon, sometimes found himself heavy hearted when fate brought a small child to be strapped to his operating table.

That's when he decided to take the young man under his wing; the surprise was, to say at least, enormous. Marcelo had to grit his teeth and swallow his pride whenever the younger man corrected him, pointed out something he missed, or just seemed to know something he didn't. The enthusiasm he harboured was refreshing however; the surgeon had gotten tired of seeing the same worn faces and fallen smiles each and every single day. His dedication motivated some, and brought some others to dislike him or even despise him. Among the latter, his own brother, Valerio. Valerio had, ever since they were children, some sort of a hero complex, and a huge ego to go with it. Competition wasn't something that sat well with him, merely an obstacle in his race to always be at the top, not just in his career, but in his personal life as well. The quarrels with his brother were countless; and some of them had, in those two years, been centered around his, he dared to call him, new friend that he's made.

"You really need to distance yourself from that freak," Marcelo scrunched up his nose at his brother's rather crude language. "Didn't you see how he cuts into those people, with that smile on his face?" At first, Marcelo dismissed him, thought his brother was just trying to be bashful, label Ruben as a threath, a lunatic in order to remove him, but one good look at Ruben's face slicing a girl's stomach open with a serene expression and a slight smirk at the corner of his lips had the image imprinted in his mind. Maybe Valerio had a point. Maybe all the gossip and the snarky comments were clouding his judgement. And while the rumors went flying in every direction, Ruben started working overtime and staying up late.

After a while, everyone forgot, and life went on, up until suddenly, just as he was packing his bag to leave the stuffy office, Ruben blurted out: "What if humans had no feelings?"

Marcelo didn't fully comprehend him, adjusting the strap length on the gray messenger bag he usually carried his belongings in. "What are you talking about?" Ruben sat perched on a tall chair, hands in his lap and hunched shoulders. He looked like a schoolboy afraid that what he was saying wasn't the correct answer.

"What if people had no feelings, but were fully functional otherwise." His eyes studied him carefully, searching for a reaction. Marcelo looked at him dumbfounded, unsure of where his younger colleague was going with this. "Just imagine, feelings no longer impairing a human's judgement, no more acting on impulse or making wrong decisions under the effect of dopamine." He jumped off his chair. "It would raise our efficiency by at least 80 percent."

Marcelo gaped at the man, slowly processing the words that had just left his mouth. "Efficiency for what, what are you talking about?" He repeated, and Ruben looked at him with somewhat disappointed eyes, as if he had expected him to understand. Encourage him even. "People can't survive like that, it's the way we were build."

"But what if we've been given something extra, something we don't need." He continued, back turned and fiddling with a scalpel he picked off a tray. "People are machines after all, you can strip one down, make it work with less parts than it originally had. You just got to know how without breaking it down for good."

"I don't see how you can refer to people as machines." Marcelo said with an iced tone, throwing his bag on his shoulder. "People are more than that, and what they feel and think is what makes them themselves. Do that, you strip them off their personality and turn them into influenceable little robots." Ruben had turned towards him at some point during his speech, with a curious sparkle in his eyes. His dedication to his work had clearly gotten to his head.

"This is a gold mine, I tell you!" The younger man didn't seem fazed by the scowl his senior threw him, now that the prospect of making money out of his crazy ideas had been thrown into the ecuation. Marcelo hoped it was just the sleep deprivation talking.

"It's sick!" He barked shortly, completely dismissing the concept. What kind of a lunatic thought of such things? Valerio could have been right about him. "Don't stay up late again." He continued in a softer, fatherly even tone, while making his way towards the door.


End file.
